


Life Lessons

by Moonrose91



Category: Disney - All Media Types, The Hunchback of Notre Dame (1996)
Genre: And non graphic child birth, Chapter Five has Character Death, Chapter Four also has someone being sick, Chapter Four has heat-exhaustion, Cross-Posted From Fanfiction dot Net, F/M, Gen, Headcanon Fic Mainly, Miscarriage, Multiple Miscarriages, Pre-Canon, The characters are original characters are so on a technicality, Young Clopin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-07
Updated: 2014-05-21
Packaged: 2017-12-04 13:49:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/711439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonrose91/pseuds/Moonrose91
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clopin learns many lessons from his elder sister. </p><p>Some are more important than others, others he forgets the minute they are taught, and others still are ones he learns are ones she never meant to teach.</p><p>And more still come at much too high a cost.</p><p>For not all lessons are easy to learn and some are learned too late.</p><p>(Based on Disney's <i>Hunchback of Notre Dame</i>)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lesson One: The Worst Crime of All

**Author's Note:**

> So, I was rewatching Disney's _Hunchback of Notre Dame_ (which I do not own the rights to, but I do own a copy of the movie) and…yeah. I found an old story idea while cleaning out my box of papers, rewatched Disney's Hunchback of Notre Dame two (or ten) more times and then decided to write this. It is very different from the original story idea. On many levels.

The young boy was staring at the puppet cart as he was lead through the streets of Paris. They were so close to Notre Dame that, if the bells rang, the boy was sure they would cause the cobblestones to shake. He continued to stare at the cart, leaning back slightly to catch sight of it. The woman sighed and turned to him, clasping the basket to her side a little more. "We have to go," she reminded softly and he turned to the older woman he was standing next to, eyes wide. He leaned against her side a bit and she sighed softly, before she looked up at the puppet cart. "Very well. Just remember to keep an eye out," she answered and he hugged her tightly before he ran off to join the others who watched the show.

With his darker completion and his purple clothes, he was quickly spotted as one of the Gypsy children that occasionally were around Paris, causing the parents around him to keep their children from him. As the show progressed, he began ignoring the world around him. He was so enthralled with the street performers, even if he saw similar, or better, in the Court , that he forgot to pay attention. He watched as the puppeteers left and were replaced by jugglers, something he didn't see very often, which pulled him further away from the world. He kept forgetting to watch, even when movement from the corner of his eye nearly made him turn.

So, he wasn't expecting the shout of, "Hand it over Gypsy!" and being hauled onto his feet.

He jumped and tried to wrench his arm out of the painful grip, trying to figure out what he had done. To his knowledge, all he had done was sit and watch a performance. He tried to get his arm out of the guard's grip, trying to get his arm free while the guards demanded he give up whatever it was he was supposed to have stolen. He stared up at them, fear building in his mind, and he suddenly twisted his arm in a way that hurt him still, but gave him freedom, and was gone.

He disappeared through the streets, racing as fast as he could without knocking anyone over. He dodged around the baker, nearly upsetting his basket of bread, before he could tear off down one of the alleyways, having to slow down as he scrambled over one of the railings and jumped down. He stumbled and someone caught him, hands strong against his shoulder.

In a panic, he yanked himself backwards, trying to fight his way out of the gentle grip when a voice, soft and soothing as a lullaby, cut through his panic, "Clopin, what's wrong?"

He looked up and into a familiar and comforting face. Without thought of being chased, without thought of the fact that guards still wanted him for reasons he did not comprehend, he flung himself at her. She let out a startled sound and Clopin buried his head into her stomach, the purple of her outfit matching his. With his head resting there, he could feel the slight rounding that spoke of an early pregnancy and he tensed slightly, a new fear coursing through his veins, remembering too often how many times she had lost her children before they were born.

As if she could understand his panic, her fingers began to run through his hair in a soothing manner and he felt his fear evaporating, as if she could protect him from everything. As if no bad things could happen to him so long as she was here. He clung a little tighter, as if his hold on her could anchor her forever there with him.

"Clopin, what is it?" she asked softly, ignoring how the world passed around them, as well as the accusations of laziness being thrown at them.

He looked up at her. "The guards, they grabbed me. I swear, I swear Chantal, I did nothing!" he stated, clinging tighter still to her as his fear returned.

Her fingers paused in running through his hair and she sighed. Clopin's fear spiked upon seeing the pure  _exhaustion_  in her brown eyes and face. "Come. We need to get somewhere safe," she murmured softly, gently removing herself from his grip, but taking hold of his hand.

Before he had a chance to ask, there was a shout of, "There he is!"

Clopin's head shot over and suddenly he was in Chantal's arms. She had picked him up as if he was a small child and it irked him…until Chantal took off. He clung to her as she ran, her speed and knowledge of Paris aiding her as she dodged through the people, jumped over railings, and otherwise raced through the streets of Paris.

He distantly wondered how she was able to do this, running like this while carrying him, before he found himself not caring as the guards attempted to follow them. However, Chantal was too quick on her feet, her memory too good. She knew where to turn to keep the guards in turmoil as they tried to follow her directly. However, if they weren't getting cut off when they got cut off by horses, their horses got caught behind one of the railings, the large, magnificent, creatures being unable to follow where Chantal led. "Are we going home?" he asked.

Chantal shook her head, bumping into a large black horse. "Pardon, monsieur," she stated and immediately rushed along.

Clopin saw the man, whose hair was practically gray, his face severe, as the guards shouted at them to stop. He had already gotten his horse under control, but Clopin clung to Chantal as his fear enhanced, though he wasn't sure how Chantal would know that it had to do with the man. She had just picked up speed and, as the sallow man on the horse scared him, Clopin buries his head into her shoulder, the guards shouting at them to stop once more.

It just seemed to spur Chantal on.

He was ten years old. He was practically an adult and he helped to bring in money for their people. And he had ended up in a scenario where he was relying on someone  _else_  to get him out of trouble because he hadn't been paying attention to his surroundings.

He was berating himself for such a foolishly childish thing as Chantal rushed up the steps of Notre Dame. She hauled open the door, her hand slipping slightly when a man, elderly, and dressed like one of the cloth, helped her open. "Hurry, my child," the man stated and Chantal quickly ran in.

The man in the white robe shut the door to Notre Dame as Chantal slowly set Clopin on the ground. "Thank you," she stated and the man shook his head.

"I would be a poor Archdeacon if I did not open the doors of Notre Dame to a mother and her child," he stated.

Chantal jumped at that and Clopin looked away. Chantal sighed and rested a comforting hand on Clopin's head. "I am just the one who raised him," she corrected softly.

The Archdeacon considered and then nodded before beginning to wander back to his duties. "You two will be safe here, so long as you are in these walls. I will allow no harm to come to you, while you claim Sanctuary," he stated.

"Sanctuary," Chantal repeated and the Archdeacon nodded in approval before he left the pair alone.

Clopin crossed his arms and then glared up at Chantal. "Next time someone assumes were mother and son, I am going to interrupt you and claim it to be true," he warned.

"You don't lie in church and  _especially_  not in the cathedral of Our Lady," she responded softly.

"To me, it's not a lie," Clopin retorted.

Chantal seemed to still and she looked down at him. Clopin looked up at her and then wrapped his arms around her, hugging her for all he was worth. "By blood, we're only brother and sister, but to me, you will  _always_  by my mama," Clopin whispered and she hugged him back.

"This eloquent and you're only ten. You're going to be a great king someday Clopin," she responded softly.

Clopin looked up. "Why did the guards grab me? All I was doing was watching the performances," he answered and that exhaustion came back.

Chantal looked around and then carefully took Clopin's hand before she walked out of the way. She settled on the ground and Clopin immediately snuggled into her side as if they were in their home, not on the hard stone floor of Notre Dame.

Once settled, she sighed and ran a comforting hand through his hair. "First of all, you foolish boy how could you forget to keep aware of your surroundings?" she demanded softly and Clopin groaned, burying his head into her shoulder. She chuckled softly and glanced around before she focused on him.

"And…why the guards grabbed is because you are a Gypsy. They do not like us very much in Paris, Clopin. Or anywhere, if I am to be honest. And…if the wrong man becomes the Judge, we will find that our lives will become much harder," she explained softly.

Clopin looked confused. "But, why should the fact we are Gypsies make any difference?" he asked.

"Because, my dear Clopin, we have committed the worst crime of all, in their eyes," she explained.

Clopin stared at her, trying to comprehend. She sighed and seemed to debate with herself before her shoulders sagged slightly. "In their eyes, we will always be thieves, and vagabonds, never contributing to society, never being better than the vermin that infest their sewers. Because…we were not born the way they were. We are, unless we commit an unlawful act, innocent," she responded and suddenly the doors to Notre Dame opened violently.

Chantal looked up, fear filling her face and Clopin clung to her. She wrapped her arms protectively around him. "Where are the Gyspies?" a guard demanded and Clopin buried his head into her shoulder. She held onto him and he flinched at every accusation, every slur, that was sent to cut them down.

Chantal just held onto him comfortingly and hummed softly. When they left, she explained they would be staying there for a while. After a time, she fell asleep against the wall. Once Clopin was sure that she was asleep, he carefully extracted himself from her, now lax, grip. He stood up and looked around.

There wasn't anyone around, omitting people that belonged to the church, and he looked around again before he stood at one of the pews. He wasn't  _entirely_  sure what he was supposed to do, but he figured that God would forgive him if he wasn't perfect. So, he prayed as best as he knew how.

"Please, please, have my sister survive this birth. She's lost so  _many_  since she got married and the last one nearly killed her and this time…this time she's tired. Please,  _please_ , have her survive this. It would be nice if the child survived too. In fact, I think she would prefer it, but…I'm human and selfish and I don't wish to lose my sister to Heaven just yet," he prayed softly, his voice barely reaching his own ears.

He stood there for a few more minutes and then quickly returned to Chantal's side. He would have to wait to see if his prayer was answered.

He hated waiting.

It wasn't till late at night, when Chantal gave coins to their father, the King, that Clopin realized that Chantal's basket was gone.


	2. Lesson Two: Some Things Can't Be Changed

Clopin had not expected being restricted to the Court when his father had eventually told him what was to pass. The entire idea of spending the next few  _months_ within the cold Court, surrounded by the biting chill of winter as it closed around them, was not exactly pleasing. Chantal tried to ease his boredom, along with keeping their father's growing temper at Clopin's boredom from exploding. The stress of trying to find that medium between the two strong-willed men of the Trouillefou family was taking its toll on her.

It came to a head before Christmas, as their father's temper snapped along with Clopin's patience at being kept inside. The argument that followed was quiet, hissing, and Clopin was furious that their father, Carvell, King of the Court, was refusing to bend at all. "I won't head toward the city! I'll stay close to the Court!" Clopin protested.

"I will not risk it Clopin and that is final!" Carvell snapped and then left.

"Clopin…" Chantal moved to comfort, but Clopin just shook her off angrily before he stormed out of the vardo he shared with Chantal and her husband.

He missed Chantal's entire façade of 'everything's all right' crumble to dust as she curled in on herself, wrapping her arms tightly around her abdomen.

After an hour of planning, Clopin decided that if his father would not let him go out of the Court, he would just have to  _sneak_  out. With that, he waited until their father wasn't watching him like a hawk watched a mouse.

As he hated waiting, Clopin found that this increased his own temper to the point where he occasionally snapped, quietly, at Chantal. Family was too important to let such arguments and dissonance among them be known publicly.

That and Clopin  _really_  didn't want  _more_  people watching him then there already were.

After a week of waiting, Clopin found his chance when his father became distracted with some of the 'look outs.' Without another thought, Clopin quickly slipped out one of the back ways into the Court and began to hurry up to the entrance. He shivered as the cold bit into him, realizing a little too late that he had forgotten to wear something a tad warmer, though he knew if he went back, he would never have the chance to escape the confines of his 'prison' again.

Clopin could only sneak out once and he was going to take advantage of it.

As he continued on his way, he quickly found out  _why_  this was not the preferred way. The only way to continue to get to the surface was to climb onto the pathway straight above.

Clopin smirked a bit and backed up. With a running start, he managed to leap up and grab part of the walkway. With a couple of swings to gather momentum, Clopin flipped himself up and onto the walkway. He crouched lightly, making sure he was steady before he slowly stood up.

For a moment, he paused, thinking he had heard a gasp from below. However, when he turned to peer through the darkness, he saw nothing and, even if he strained his hearing to the limits, he only heard his own breathing, accompanied with his pounding heartbeat. "I must be hearing things," he muttered before he continued on his way, footsteps echoing lightly against the stone wall.

Again, he paused, thinking he heard the sound of someone following him. He whirled around, knowing that there was no place to hide on the path, but found that there was no one. Clopin pondered if he should just go back before he shrugged and quickly picked up speed. If he hurried, he might not be caught so close to the outside.

There would be punishment for leaving the Court, but he would be able to satisfy that urge to see the sky.

All too soon, Clopin found himself at the entrance. He stared out at the whiteness that covered everything and held out one gloved hand to catch the drifting snowflakes. The smile that stretched across his face could only be described as completely overjoyed at such a thing.

Yes, it would freeze the Court, but it was  _snow_! As he moved to step out, he heisted. Should he disobey his father so blatantly? With the snow around, anyone who walked by would be able to realize that someone had been there. He could put the entire Court in danger, unless he covered up his tracks. He could probably shake some snow off from somewhere or collect it where no one would notice if a few handfuls of the white ice was missing.

Satisfied with this thought process, he moved to step out into the cold of a Parisian winter.

His foot did not even touch the ground when a large, strong, hand grabbed his arm and yanked him back. "What are you doing?" his father demanded as he pulled Clopin around, hands bracing harshly on Clopin's shoulders. He looked up at his father and quickly looked away.

It was not because of the argument, or even the fact he was disobey his father, that he looked away.

No, Clopin looked away because he could not face the pure  _fear_  that seemed to blaze within his father's dark eyes. "I…I was just going to go outside, just for a bit," Clopin answered softly, but the excuse sounded weak, even to him.

He felt the grip on his shoulders loosen and his father let out a long sigh. "After the Feast of Fools, all right Clopin?" the man asked and Clopin looked up hesitantly.

He was surprised his father gave in so easily. Very rarely did Carvell give in on any of his decisions, ruling by the adage of a velvet glove over an iron fist. He was gentle and kind, but fearsome in punishing those who disregarded what he ordered. "Yes, Papa," he answered softly, accepting the fact that Carvell was being lenient for whatever reason.

"Good. Chantal, take him back into the Court," his father ordered.

"Yes, Papa," Chantal ordered softly and Clopin looked over at her, surprised to see her standing there.

He hadn't seen her there earlier.

Clopin's eyes narrowed slightly in confusion. Why did she look like she was in pain?

"I trust you'll make sure he doesn't wander off again?" Carvell asked as he gently pushed Clopin towards Chantal.

"Of course, Papa. Let's go, Clopin," she responded softly and held her hand out to him.

Clopin hesitated and then carefully took it. She smiled and they walked back.

Their father did not follow.

Chantal moved slowly and he soon found that they were returning the way he had come. Getting back down, instead of flipping up, was much harder than it looked and his sister patiently talked him through getting back down.

"What would you have done if I hadn't been here to help?" she questioned.

"Jumped down," he answered honestly and Chantal's fear filled face told Clopin that the plan was a bad one.

She shook her head at him and they continued back to the Court.

They were back home when he got up the courage to speak. "Chantal?" he asked softly.

"Yes Clopin?" she responded gently.

He opened his mouth to ask, before he closed it. Despite wanting to know, he wasn't sure how to ask. Chantal had paused in her mending, or maybe it was just sewing, setting it to the side, and looked up at him. "Yes, Clopin, I lost the baby," she answered to his unasked question and his eyes snapped up to her face.

She was just…accepting of what happened. He wanted to shout, scream, ask when it had happened. However, none of that happened. Instead, he threw himself across the space, and buried himself into her willing hug.

Clopin rested against her and felt her run her fingers through his hair. "It'll be fine, Clopin, you'll see," she murmured softly as she began to rock him gently.

He clung tightly to her, wondering how she could accept this, while he had no idea how to start.


	3. Lesson Three: Have Fun While You Can

Clopin followed Chantal as they walked through the Court, helping to prepare for the Feast of Fools. Chantal was smiling and laughing, as if she hadn't lost yet another child, often attempting to do the graceful flips and leaps of the other girls, but falling. "Come, Clopin, show you're decrepit sister how to do this!" she called and Clopin hesitated.

She laughed and grabbed him, pulling him over. She grabbed a tambourine and gave a rhythm to follow. He grinned and quickly got into the spirit of it, doing back flips as easily as those who had done them for years. They applauded and a few threw a few flowers to him. He gave over-exaggerated bows in response, smiling brightly when a hat clouded his vision.

He pulled it off and glared at Jerome, who was grinning at him before he looked around. "Ah, my lovely Chantal," he greeted.

Chantal let out a surprised laugh as Jerome grabbed her around the waist and quickly dipped her, giving her a kiss. Clopin made a face and looked away, using Jerome's hat to help cover his face. Jerome laughed and rescued his hat, placing it back on his own head. "You will not feel the same when  _you_  have a lady," Jerome answered and he made another face. Jerome laughed and ruffled up his hair before he gave Chantal a kiss on the forehead.

"Jerome, if you're finished flirting with my daughter, you're needed at Notre Dame," their father called.

"Yes, Carvell," Jerome answered and quickly took off. Chantal sighed and turned to their father.

"We need some of the banners fixed," their father stated and Chantal nodded.

"Come Clopin. And this time, you can't escape to Paris," she answered and Clopin sighed, though followed obediently after Chantal. Two of the dogs were reviewing their performance for their handlers and Clopin paused to watch until Chantal came back and carefully hauled him after her.

"Why are you so intent on teaching me how to sew?" Clopin asked.

"You'll see," she answered and they sat in a clear area. She looked thoughtful and then unfurled the banner. Clopin let out a yelp as it settled over his head and pulled out from under it, glowering at her. She merely smiled innocently and then began to teach him how to sew. Once he got the idea of pulling the thread through the eye of the needle, tying it off properly, and small stitches, it was…soothing.

He was also enjoying the time he spent with Chantal, though she had to keep reminding him to keep his stitches small, as well to make sure they didn't get tangled. It wasn't extravagant, but it was simple and soon the banner was fixed between them. As they finished off, they handed the banners off to one of their own, who was already dressed in his Feast of Fools regalia. "Ah, Father, we can barely recognize you," she answered cheerfully and Clopin gaped at the masked man.

"With all the guard problems we've been having lately, I decided it was best if I lead it off this year," he answered, his mask following his facial movements. Clopin leaned up, fascinated and Chantal smiled brightly.

"Papa…how did you do that?" Clopin asked and Carvell smiled at his son.

"Some sewing and a few tricks. I have to hurry though. Jerome, take these to Notre Dame and get them hung up. I'll be along. Where is Aurelia?" he answered before he turned, already heading off into the business that was preparation for the Feast of Fools.

Clopin turned to Chantal. "How can I learn to do that?" he asked and Chantal grinned.

She then knelt down and beckoned for him to come closer. He inched forward, eager, and she answered, "By learning how to sew."

Clopin groaned and Chantal laughed. Clopin then grinned and raised an eyebrow at her. She nodded and let him brace himself on her shoulders so he could do a backflip over her. She stood up with a twist and soon the pair were laughing again. Those that had nothing to do, for the moment, helped the pair learn more tricks, though Chantal's handstands were shaky at best, complete failures at worst.

Clopin, on the other hand, was excelling as he did various flips, hand stands, and used other people to propel him higher.

Eventually, however, everyone was gone, beyond a few left behind, in case something went wrong or someone needed aid.

The Court was never truly empty unless something horrible happened.

They had settled just in the doorway of their home. While Chantal focused on doing repairs to clothes, Clopin carefully worked on sewing something. He kept hiding it from Chantal and he, eventually, smiled as he pulled the, crudely made, puppet on his hand. He had to curve his hand slightly so it fit and the left eye was smaller than the right, but it fit, in a way.

He then turned and half threw himself on Chantal, who laughed a bit. "Hello!" he greeted in a high-pitched voice, holding the puppet up.

Before she had a chance to respond, the Court flooded rapidly. Chantal carefully sat up, gently placing Clopin to the side. He turned and stilled. Their people were injured. Chantal rushed to help and Clopin placed his, first, hand puppet on the steps before joining Chantal in helping them. Jerome stepped up to her side and she turned to him. "What happened?" she asked while Clopin helped one of their midwives sit down.

"It went badly after crowning the King of Fools. We were making our exits when…well, let's say that the guards were waiting," Jerome answered.

Soon, they were a flurry of activity. It was only after everything was said and done did Clopin manage to find their father. He was the only uninjured one and he was looking _angry_. "Father?" Clopin called and let out a startled sound as the large man yanked him into a hug.

Clopin didn't say anything.

He didn't think words would help.

* * *

It was Jerome who told them why their father had become practically catatonic.

He had not been there. At first, Clopin had not understood. He had always been told that he and Chantal had to escape as quickly as they could after the crowning, because that meant the Feast of Fools had, practically, come to the end. It also meant that any charitable feelings the guards had towards them at this time would end just as quickly. "He's blaming himself, isn't he?" Chantal stated as she showed Clopin how to measure his next puppet.

"Essentially," her husband answered and Chantal muttered a few choice words that Clopin knew he was never allowed to repeat.

Jerome raised an eyebrow. "This has happened before?" he asked.

Chantal hesitated, carefully correcting where Clopin was about to stitch as she turned to her own mending, though she threw one of Jerome's shirts at him. "If you're going to gossip with us, you need to do work," she retorted.

Jerome smiled before he began to mend his shirt. "This is another reason you need to learn. If your future wife is anything like your sister, she'll happily make you do your own work," he stated and Chantal kicked out at Jerome.

He smiled and Clopin made a face before he focused on his puppet. "So, this has happened before?" Jerome reminded.

Chantal sighed. "Before mother died, yes. She got him out of it," she answered.

Clopin focused entirely on this conversation, not paying attention as his stitching slowed down. Jerome was quiet and Chantal gave a sigh. "She made a fool of herself. She was an acrobat before she married father. Couldn't hold a note, or make a step without messing it up, but she could put to shame anyone here. Papa swept her off her feet in a whirlwind romance. So, she employed everything she knew for him, until he laughed. However, those days are long gone," she answered and Clopin yelped as he stabbed himself in the finger with the needle.

He pulled his hand back and waved it. "Clopin, you sewed the puppet's arm shut," she stated.

Clopin groaned and smacked his head against the wall while Chantal chuckled a little before she showed him how to, carefully, undo the stitching. It made some holes in the fabric, but it was salvageable. "Pay attention to your stitches before conversations," she scolded and Clopin's face flushed in embarrassment.

Chantal sighed and finished off a shirt. "You don't think either you or Clopin could cheer him up?" Jerome asked.

Chantal shrugged. "Nothing I've ever done has," she answered.

Clopin focused on his stitching, even as his mind turned.

* * *

Carvell looked up when he heard some movement and raised an eyebrow at his son, who was struggling to pull something onto his left hand. He watched as Clopin looked around and then hid, sort-of behind a piece of furniture within their home. He then held up the two puppets, one a green-eyed, slightly deformed, hand puppet wearing green with poorly stitched on 'hair'. The other wore a hat and was obviously based loosely of Carvell himself.

He sat back and watched as Clopin began to act out a story. It was a rather odd story, about a King who had lost his kingdom and had to go to the King of the Mountain who lived in it. Carvell smiled a bit at his son's blatant attempt to cheer him up, but the story….the story was very good.

Clopin's natural love of being in the limelight and showing off, was showing through. He was also…very good with telling a story. Carvell watched the story unfold and smiled.

He would have to talk to their carter about making Clopin a puppet show cart and, when the story was finished, he applauded. Clopin popped up with a grin and Carvell stood, patting his head. "Very good, Clopin," he praised.

He had never seen his son smile so brightly.

* * *

Chantal looked around and nodded a bit as she saw no one was around. With a smile, she began to do a series of flips, back flips, and quick handstands before she landed on her feet, surprised when she heard applause. She turned around and sighed when she saw Jerome walking over to her. "Why do you not show everyone what you can do?" Jerome asked and Chantal looked towards where Clopin was bouncing excitedly next to their father.

"I had more important things to do," she answered simply.

Jerome carefully wrapped his arms around her and pressed a kiss to her cheek. She immediately relaxed against him and her arms resting over his arms, fingers tucking into his palm.

He smiled warmly at the small act of affection and carefully curled his hand around her fingers, pressing another kiss to her cheek.

She twisted her head and kissed him back, and he smiled, just absorbing being with his wife, enjoying the quiet happiness they had in this moment.

There would be time for worry later.


	4. Lesson Four: Never Assume You Know Everything

Clopin was relieved when he was allowed back into Paris. He was surprised however when he was paired up with the puppeteer of their group. Chantal kept close during that time, often helping to repair the puppets during shows, while Clopin learned. He was thoroughly enjoying learning from the elderly man and was excited. Chantal even helped him make a jester like costume for his work with Maurice.

He spent most of his time, at first, bringing customers to the puppet show. However, Maurice slowly taught Clopin more and more. He taught the boy how to use the shadow puppets, and even marionettes. Hand puppets were something that Clopin had more experience with. Sometimes he saw Chantal in the crowd, but rarely.

Chantal gave him the space to learn and he savored every moment.

But his favorite moments of the day were to settle against Chantal and tell her about his day while she showed him tricks with sewing, how to use cloth to make various pieces of decoration, and he watched with fascination as she made beautiful dresses for the other women in the Court for various reasons, festivals being the most common. Some needed them for playing at fortune tellers, the city's hatred for them keeping them from making more honest ways of making money.

Bread needed to be put on the table and pretty words didn't get food.

Well, pretty words alone.

It was high summer when Chantal had to go back to work on the streets of Paris. Clopin thought he wouldn't have to worry about her; Jerome wouldn't let his wife out of his sight if he could help it, and there was also their father. It was his job to protect all of their people to the best of his ability.

However, Clopin wasn't sure what she was going to do. He knew she could read palms and sing, but within the heat of the day, Clopin wasn't sure how much they would bring in, even if the whole Court emptied into the streets. He resisted the urge to groan and slunk farther into the shade.

One good thing could be said about the Court; while it froze in the winter, it kept pleasantly cool during the summer. Above, the bells of Notre Dame began to peel and Clopin looked up, only to see Chantal. He sat up slightly and saw her listening to the bells. He looked around and Maurice waved him towards his sister. Clopin stood up and walked over, watching the way his sister was listening.

He looked up at the bell tower of Notre Dame, then back at his sister. "I used to dance to these bells," she murmured, and he looked back over at Notre Dame.

"Why?" he asked.

Chantal shrugged and looked up. "Because, I love the bells," she answered and then spun away. Clopin watched as she spun her way back over to where Jerome was waiting. She grinned and began to dance. Clopin watched in shock, as she began to twist and turn, dancing to the bells that peeled above.

"Used to?" he questioned softly and a soft laugh drew his attention. He turned and found himself looking up at Maurice.

"Chantal used to love dancing. It is unsurprising. Of course, her version of dancing hasn't changed much over the years," Maurice answered softly and gently tugged at Clopin, leading him back to the cart.

Clopin stared at Maurice, mouth open. "Close your mouth or you'll eat flies," Maurice warned and it shut with a click.

"When did she start dancing?" he asked softly.

"When she was little. Her mother taught her, but it wouldn't have made a difference if she didn't have a sense of rhythm. She elected to stay within the Court, however, doing what she enjoyed," Maurice answered, sitting in the shade his puppet cart provided.

Clopin sat down next to him, wincing when he sat down too hard. "What was that?" Clopin asked and Maurice looked at him.

"Why don't you ask Chantal?" Maurice asked and Clopin looked away.

The older man laughed. "You thought you knew everything about your sister? Ah, to be so young," Maurice stated before he pat Clopin's head. "Come, we need to earn our bread," he stated and Clopin, with a low sigh, flipped up, before he rushed off to see if he could bring in more people, drawing them away from their laborious work to enjoy a show, trying to draw in those with coin to spare or…well, Maurice was right in that they were earning their bread.

Summer was the worst time of the year. Clopin sat down in the shade and ran a hand through hair that was soaked with sweat. He pulled his hand out with a disgusted look and turned to check on Maurice.

The elder man was….

Clopin's thoughts went no farther as he slumped over in the shade, the heat getting the better of him.

When he awoke, it was back in the Court. He blinked and slowly sat up, shaking violently. "Clopin!"

He looked up in confusion, trying to figure out why Chantal was so worried. He felt dried out, however, and exhausted. He blinked in confusion as she carefully touched his face and sighed, shaking her head slightly at him. "When you feel too hot, you're supposed to tell Maurice and get back to the Court, you silly, silly boy!" she exclaimed softly and pulled him into a tight hug.

Clopin just sat there, thoroughly confused, but he hugged her back anyway. "Yes, Chantal," he answered softly.

He felt her run her fingers through his hair before she released him and he watched her stand up. She then held a bucket and had him hold it. He was about to ask why when he let out a groan and threw up into it. She sighed softly and turned. "Jerome, go tell Papa and Maurice Clopin will live," she stated.

Clopin ignored most of it, as he was busy retching. He found himself at the 'tender' mercies of their 'midwife', but mainly the Court's expert in all manner of healing, and Chantal.

He wasn't sure who was worse, though later, when he felt like he fit in his own skin once more, he was very thankful for them both and said as much to them.

"Remember that Clopin," Chantal murmured, but before Clopin could promise he would, he was out like a light.

The next morning, he would wonder why he felt like he was forgetting something.


	5. Lesson Five: The World is Cruel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter holds Character Death. 
> 
> Also has non-graphic child birth as well as some…very not nice things said about the child due to deformity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, this was going to be much longer.
> 
> Much longer.
> 
> However, I could never think of any other "life lessons" and, really, this is the "life lesson" that started the idea. This is the one that spawned the other four and I decided that, if I ever think of any more, I'll add them on, but...yeah, time to end this.
> 
> It was a wonderful ride, and I enjoyed writing it, even though I knew how it was going to end.

When Carvell had announced that they would be moving to Paris, there had been a cacophony of protests and Clopin turned to Chantel, who was pushing her hands against her lower back to ease the pain of carrying to full term (something that had Clopin dancing for joy whenever he thought about his future niece or nephew). "Chantel, why are they acting like Papa turned them over to the guard?" Clopin asked softly and she smiled weakly at him.

"Well, they think they have. You know better than I how hard things have been since Judge Claude Frollo has taken over," she explained and Clopin immediately glanced around for the source of the name, even if they were safe in the Court of Miracles.

She was right, of course. The Judge, who everyone rightly feared, was cold and hard as the iron that made the bells of Notre Dame, but unlike the bells, held no life within him, no soul.

No kindness.

He was a cruel and vicious man, and someone Clopin felt should be kept far from them. “Won’t we be dead anyway, if it continues and we aren’t already in Paris?” Clopin questioned softly.

Before Chantel could answer him, however, Carvell’s sharp voice was cutting through the fear. “We have no choice!” he stated and Clopin raised an eyebrow.

“If things continue as they are, we will never be able to get into Paris ever again. The Court needs to move, sooner rather than later, if we wish to survive,” Carvell continued and Clopin nodded in agreement.

There was more murmuring, more arguments, but Clopin was already turning to Chantel, who was smiling, even if the smile looked a bit too tight. “As you can see, you and Papa had the exact same thought. He is riiiight,” Chantel began, only to get cut off by her words turning into a wail of pain.

“Chantel?” Clopin cried out in concern, Jerome already rushing to her side from where he had been standing off to the side.

Women of the Court were also rushing over to Chantel. “Is there a pushing sensation around your middle dear?” one, the Midwife Giselle, questioned, and Chantel nodded rapidly, breathing heavily through her nose as her jaw clenched tight.

“It is time!” Giselle called and they were already herding her towards the varda meant for childbirth, Clopin turning to Jerome, who was staring after Chantel as if his entire life was being herded away from him.

*~*~*

Jerome and Clopin were the only ones not working, though no one tried to. They had worked the first day, but with Chantel’s labor still going, Carvell said they would be useless until it was over. Everyone agreed, as each time Chantel screamed, Jerome would flinch while Clopin closed his eyes tight.

Carvell, when Chantel let out another pain filled shout, suddenly wished it had not happened again, that his daughter had not gotten pregnant, not if it meant this pain. He shivered as another scream rent through the air, but this was followed by orders to push.

He stilled, looking up from where he was helping hold a beam steady, the other workers stilling around him as well. More screams, and finally, after so long, a newborn babe’s crying began to fill the air.

Jerome practically fell over in relief as Clopin leapt up with a shout of, “I am an uncle!”

Carvell chuckled, helping to finish taking the beam down to settle it on the ground. The babe was still crying, but after a few more moments, that too had silenced.

Giselle, however, was still within and Carvell frowned. He was about to walk over, to demand explanation, when she stepped out. “She won’t let it go,” she whispered and Carvell frowned.

“What?” he questioned.

“The child…he is deformed. She won’t let him go,” Giselle explained and Carvell pressed at her upper arm.

The midwife stepped in and Carvell stepped inside. The air was stuffy and smelled of blood and sweat. There were other scents as well, ones that he was not as familiar with, but Chantel was gripping the babe tight, exhaustion obvious in her bearing.

“No,” she gasped out and clung to the babe.

“Let me see him,” Carvell ordered and Chantel shook her head, the hair not even moving due to how the sweat still clung to her, but Carvell just moved her arms enough.

He recoiled slightly when he saw the slightly smushed face with the pig nose and, despite how she tried to stop him from looking further, he saw the way the back was already curling over. “He’s mine. He is my son,” she protested, even as Carvell carefully covered him back up again.

“What happened?” Carvell asked and Chantel just clung.

“The cord was wrapped all around him,” Giselle stated and Carvell looked over at her.

“And he lived?” he inquired.

Giselle nodded and Carvell sighed as he stood up. “Then we take it as a good omen; that he lived despite the odds. She will travel last, and Jerome will go with her. Clopin, however, will be among the first to cross to the new Court,” Carvell ordered and Chantel relaxed against the pillows.

He stepped out and stilled when he saw Jerome, as well as Clopin, standing there. “What’s wrong with our son?” Jerome questioned.

“He’s deformed. But, he lived, and so did Chantel. I will take it as a good omen,” Carvell answered and stepped off.

The light footsteps signaled Clopin entering.

Carvell had crossed to help cover the vardas before Jerome entered.

*~*~*

Clopin crouched in the shadows, wincing at the way the snow melted into his shoes.

Carvell had been caught by Judge Claude Frollo, leaving Jerome as King, though Clopin had been filling his shoes as he awaited his sister’s return to the Court. He had already silenced those who spoke of the ill a deformed child would bring, reminding them all of the fact it was _his_ nephew they spoke of, the child that had finally returned a light Clopin thought long dead to his sister’s eyes.

That this was the son that survived, the child that had made it and, despite being wider at the shoulders and hard to be born, had neither died nor killed his mother. That silenced many in his presence and, even with Carvell being caught, he had been caught saving some children from the guards, and the whispers of an ill omen had died.

Now, Clopin waited in the shadows near Notre Dame, able to overlook the river, to welcome the last members of the Court _home_.

He smiled as he heard the distressed cries of a babe echoed across the water and he shifted his weight, readying to move when he saw something out of the corner of his eye. He stilled and, slowly, turned his head, eyes widening in horror when he saw a guard.

He opened his mouth, preparing to shout, but it was too late.

Chantel was already on shore as the arrow flew and the guards poured out, and worse, Judge Claude Frollo had appeared as well. He couldn’t really hear them and could only watch as Jerome, another of their Court, and the bargeman were dragged away. Each step reassured that they were leaving Clopin as King and he could only continue to watch, frozen in place, as the hat Jerome always worse fell off his head and into the shadows as the guards shoved too hard.

Judge Claude Frollo had come closer to Chantel in the moments and a guard…Clopin snarled silently when he saw them grab his nephew and then…

Chantel kicked out at him, holding her son close before she was taking off.

And Frollo was right behind her.

Clopin unfroze and immediately began to ran.

If he knew his sister as well as he thought he did, he knew exactly where she would run. And maybe, just maybe, he would get there first.

He slid through the snow, kicking it up as he ran through the silent streets of Paris, the wind brushing past his ears. Sometimes, he could hear Frollo’s great horse galloping through the streets and he shifted, hopping over a gate only to realize he was hearing something a street over, just barely avoiding hitting either Chantel or the horse.

He continued to run, dodging through small alleyways, almost too big to fit through them anymore, and he stumbled out, the courtyard stretching before him as Frollo kicked Chantel away from him. She fell and her head hit the stone steps and Clopin knew, knew like he knew he’d never see Jerome again, never see Papa again, that she was dead.

He drew back into the shadows, clenching his eyes tight when he saw Frollo had his nephew. His crying nephew.

He watched, knowing he could not save his nephew, as he wanted the one who had now taken _everything_ but the Court from him recoil from the boy. The way he guided his horse to a well, prepared to drop him down the well, wondering if he could continue to watch as his nephew _was murdered_ without even trying to save him…when the Archdeacon shouted for Frollo to stop.

Clopin fell, the snow clinging to his clothes as he watched.

It was only when they went inside Notre Dame that Clopin stood and retraced his steps.

He collected Jerome’s hat and gave a sharp nod to himself, settling it on his head before he took off once again.

Notre Dame first and then…then the Court.

*~*~*

The Archdeacon nearly fell over when a tall, lithe, figure stepped out of the shadows. “Where is he?” the figure demanded and the Archdeacon narrowed his eyes before a memory of a young woman with a boy that was hers by soul had sought sanctuary.

Of the way they hid from the guards and he stared at the young man. “You have grown,” the Archdeacon stated and the boy, now a young man, merely scowled.

“Where is he?” he asked again.

“Who?” the Archdeacon asked.

“The boy my sister was carrying. Where is he?” he demanded, stepping forward and the Archdeacon frowned.

“He is in the care of Judge Claude Frollo. Do not worry, my son…” he began, only to get cut off with an angry snarl of, “Frollo has no heart! He will _never_ care for my nephew!”

“He will, to repent for the death of the boy’s mother,” the Archdeacon promised, but the boy shook his head.

“No, he won’t. He hates us, Archdeacon. Please, give him to me,” he pleaded, but the Archdeacon shook his head.

“I’m sorry, but it is done. He has accepted the responsibility. To take the boy from him will only end in disaster,” the Archdeacon stated and the young man frowned, before he pulled away.

“Will my sister at least be buried properly?” he inquired.

“Yes. I know of your custom to carry payment in your earrings and her earring will be enough. Will you be there?” the Archdeacon responded and the young man merely stepped away.

“You know, she was wrong, my sister,” he stated and the Archdeacon watched as he stayed half in the candlelight, half in the shadows he had come from.

“What do you mean?” he inquired.

“The world is cruel and it is people like you, who think you are doing so much good, that make it that much more so,” the man answered and was gone before the Archdeacon could protest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea of Quasi and Clopin being related comes from the fact Quasi's dad's hat looks a lot like Clopin's hat.
> 
> Originally Clopin was actually going to be his brother but the fact Clopin looks pretty noticeably older than Quasi, I decided it would be better if they were uncle and nephew.
> 
> Anyway...
> 
> Pinpointing Clopin's age was next to impossible, so I decided to let the end be very vague about how much time has passed between Lesson Four and Lesson Five.
> 
> My guess of his age, at the beginning of the movies, was somewhere from late 30s to early 40s, as Quasi is said to be 20, somewhere, so Clopin here could be anywhere from age 15 to 20-something when Lesson Five, mainly, takes place.
> 
> Chantel is actually "old" by this time's standards, but an adult in ours, and is about 8 to 10 years older than Clopin. I figured this was as realistic as I could get as I trust about....no sources on the Romani, or other travelers of this time period that I could find, as they were all written....not by those people.


End file.
